


Encouragement

by RonnaWren (orphan_account)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Defeat, Hand Jobs, M/M, They deserve this shit, way too much bourbon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/RonnaWren
Summary: After Skinny Repeal fails so dramatically, McConnell drinks deeply and hates with zeal.





	Encouragement

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to have this finished ages ago.

His moment has arrived, Mitch knows, as each colleague casts their vote exactly as he expected them to. Collins votes no. Damn lost cause, but he hadn't lost any sleep over her. Murcowski votes no, despite less-than-diplomatic threats against the entire state of Alaska from Zinke. Again, he is unconcerned. All will proceed as he planned.

When McCain also votes no, he hears far more than he sees.

He closes his eyes for a moment against the terrible sight he has witnessed, listening as shocked Democrats gasp, then applaud. He too is shocked, but his hands remain still and cold.

It's over, then. All the meetings with a select few, all the criticism from nearly every side imaginable, all the rushed bills... for this.

He hardly hears what he says to the reporters that bombard him. It doesn't matter. The events speak for themselves well enough.

He is exhausted, a tiredness so deep he feels it in the marrow of his bones, which until now he had not believed possible. He arrives home, somehow, his feet dragging and head throbbing. He can't think of any next steps tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps, but tonight is for defeat, which shall be his closest companion.

He pops open a bottle of bourbon, and drinks one glass, then two, then three... He has lost count. It must be half past three now, and sleep is still far off.

His phone chirps, and he pulls it out to see he has received several texts from Paul Ryan. As he expects, they are a mix of gloating and reprimand. How dare he! The bill the House voted on was never meant to be anything but a holdover, a prop, a pretend beginning.

Come over and say all this to my face, he types impulsively—or rather, drunkenly. He hits SEND before he can have any second thoughts.

I'll be there, Ryan replies instantly. Give me ten minutes.

Mitch takes another swig of bourbon while he waits. True to his word, Ryan arrives within the allotted ten minutes, announcing himself with a brusque knock.

How inconsiderate. It's the middle of the night. Calmer souls are asleep now. But Mitch doesn't particularly care about common courtesy toward his insignificant neighbors, and opens the door eagerly.

"You're wasted," Ryan greets him.

"It's about fucking time I accomplished something I set out to," Mitch replies simply, words hardly slurring.

"That's bullshit," Ryan snaps. "I don't know why you guys can't do anything. Just get your caucus in line."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you," Mitch hisses. "Your caucus is no better than a bunch of fighting cats. Senators at least have decorum."

"Shut up." Ryan has raised his hand, but Mitch catches his wrist before he can do whatever he intended.

"I am the one who was humiliated by one of my most prominent senior members," McConnell whispers, leaning close to Ryan so that his quiet words can be heard. "Can't you at least give me a little encouragement for the next item on our agenda?" He is so close that he can see every faint twitch, every slight movement of Ryan's burning eyes.

"Oh, yeah. I can do that," Ryan retorts hotly, and kisses him.

The kiss is enough to shock Mitch out of his drunken haze. He returns the kiss angrily, his hand ghosting upward to cup the back of Ryan's head and draw him, if possible, even closer, his fingers tangling in his hair.

Ryan growls and starts unbuttoning Mitch's shirt without breaking the kiss. Mitch does not make to return the favor, only waiting to see how far Ryan is willing to go.

Ah, quite far. Ryan has now unbuttoned Mitch's pants, deftly grasping his throbbing cock. Ryan breaks the kiss, lowering his head to bite and suck at the skin of Mitch's shoulder. Well, he really isn't bad at this...

Mitch comes with a moan of "Paul" into Ryan's pumping hand and spattering some against his wrinkled suit; Ryan laughs softly, seemingly unaffected.

Ryan then lifts his head to ask, "Well, is this encouraging enough for you?"

"Hmm," Mitch murmurs. "Let's move this to the couch." He stretches out on the couch, pulling Ryan down on top of him.

"Just so you know," Ryan says, undoing his own pants and sliding them down, "your bourbon tastes like shit."

"It's not about the taste but the tradition," Mitch replies.

The next several minutes are spent as the previous few. When Ryan comes in Mitch's hand, he cries out, and Mitch smiles.

He switches their positions, bearing down on Ryan inexorably. He spits into his hand and coats his cock, then lines up with Ryan's entrance. "Do you want me to do this?" he asks.

"Yes," Ryan says, "but go slowly."

Within moments filled with progressively swifter thrusts, he has come inside Ryan, and Ryan is whimpering for release. With one more lazy thrust, Mitch hits the prostate, and Ryan comes, too, shouting Mitch's name in ecstasy.

After Mitch pulls out, they lay tangled together for a moment, sweaty and panting. "I'd say this has been quite encouraging," Mitch says at last.

"Good," Ryan returns. "But I stand by everything I said when I arrived."

"Of course you do," Mitch sighs. "Tax reform will be exactly the same, you know."

"We'll never get anything done at this rate," Ryan laments.

"Oh, I'm sure we can manage something," Mitch replies vaguely.

"I'll be going now," Ryan says, extricating himself from Mitch's hold and doing up his fly.

"Good night," Mitch says, getting up to help Ryan gather his things. "I hope we have no cause to do this again."

Ryan nods, and closes the door behind him with a quiet snap. Mitch puts away what's left of the bourbon. Things surely couldn't get better after this debacle.


End file.
